The Worst Day of My Life

I got really sick of listening to the same Rihanna song a million times, so on the drive home from work today, I changed the radio station to a random soft rock/easy listening one.  

And there it was.  The song.  The song that was playing on the worst day of my life.  

"I think we should break up."  The words immediately came to mind, and I then thought of the events leading up to, during, and after hearing them. 

I thought back to the fact that I begged him to take back what he said.  To stay together.  


I promised that I would change if he just changed his mind.  


This wasn't the worst day of my life because I was getting dumped.  It was the worst day of my life because I had become the absolute farthest away from the person I truly was.  I was never the type of girl who would beg a guy to not break up with her, or the type of girl who would change just for the sake of holding onto something...something that was never or would never be healthy or positive.  


I gave up everything (God, college, friends, my figure, and a boyfriend who truly cared for me and would never have hurt me).  All for a guy in a band in which, honestly, he was the least talented member.  All for a guy who, quite frankly, was and probably still is a king-size DB.  And seriously not that good-looking, but I digress. 

A few years later, I have myself (and God, my college degree, the good friends, my figure, and at least in some ways, some respect from the boyfriend I left) back.  And someone who loves that person, not a pretend one.  


I guess what I want most for anyone to get out of this is that if you're not who you are, then the situation you're in is probably not the best one.  And 99.9% of the time, if your friends, family, and God are telling you you're making a mistake, you are.  

If all else fails, just remember that no guy is worth showing up to his job like a crazed lunatic for.  

Not that I did that or anything...


Perhaps the most pathetic thing is that the song that came on the radio, the one that reminded me of the worst day of my life, was LeAnn Rimes' "How Do I Live?" 


LeAnn Rimes.  
Who cheated on and left her husband. 
For Eddie Cibrian. 
Who cheated on and left his wife. 
Who was pregnant.  


All that said, I think I'll stick to lighter topics on my blog in the future. 

Next time--how I convinced my family I was a genius. 


-R

Sisterly Love

My sister is 15 months my junior.  Growing up so close in age presented many opportunities to bond.  We decided not to take those opportunities, and instead opted to argue, name-call, and kick the living crap out of each other.  

Her birthday is on Monday, so I figured the best way to honor that is to write a blog post about her.  

Things I've Done to My Sister That Give Her Every Right to Murder Me

1. Whenever we played "school" growing up, I was the teacher and she was the student.  And she always got an "F."  Without fail. 
2. I slapped her in the face in front of no fewer than three of her friends.  
3. My friend and I played hide and seek with her.  She hid in the bottom part of the entertainment center.  We put a paint stick across the door handles, locking her in there, and left.  
4. The same friend and I poured the sugar out of a sugar packet, replaced it with Sweet-n-Low, and fed it to my sister.  Foaming at the mouth.  
5. I let my friends take her stuffed animal (Aladdin's Abu) and amputate his leg.  
6. I often ate her leftovers from restaurants before she woke up.  
7. Whenever my friends and I did...hmm, anything...we would tell my sister that you had to be *year older than she was at the time* to do them.  She was never old enough to do anything with us.  
8. We forced her to ride her bike to the store when she was about 11 and get us sugar, then proceeded to mock her for saying, "you mean when I'm carrying a bag of sugar, I'm carrying five pounds?"  
9. She always had to sit in the back seat, even if she called shotgun.  
10. Does anyone remember how, on a landline phone, if you dial your own number and hang up, the phone would ring?  Well, my sister and I were doing that once so we could talk to each other.  My brother and I were downstairs, and my sister was upstairs.  My sister made the phone ring, and my brother picked up and said "Shortsville Fire Department."  My sister came down the stairs, white as a ghost.  

I did reap what I sowed in several ways, but most notable was the time I peed my pants walking home from school with my sister and our friend in seventh grade.  

Happy Birthday, sis. :)

Childhood Vignette, Part 2

I am nine or ten years old. 

My mother, aunt, and I are in the kitchen. 

It is summer. 

Mom is making eggs, or maybe French toast, for breakfast.  Since I am just standing there like a lump watching her, she goes to me first when she needs help. 

"R, go get me the whisk, please?" She asks. 

I am confused, but I obey.  I return about five seconds later, from the laundry room next to the kitchen, laundry detergent in hand.

"What is that?"  my mother says.

"The Wisk," I respond.

My aunt laughs, and my mom calls me an idiot.  

I learn what a whisk is, and what it feels like to have my mother tongue betray me.  


-R

15 items or...as many as you want, apparently.

I was at the grocery store today to pick up some snacks for a little shindig I'm attending later.  Since I only had 4 items, I made my way to the express lane.  I love my grocery store because the express lanes there are grammatically correct in that the signs say "15 items or fewer" rather than the incorrect "15 items or less."  

My excitement over proper grammar ended, though, when I realized that people can't follow the rules.  The lady in front of me had about 20 items.  "Fine," I thought.  "That's not so bad."  And then I saw the cart.  The largest cart model at the store was entering the lane behind me, and it was packed to the brim.  I caught the lady looking directly AT the "15 items or fewer" sign, and it appeared as though she was leaving.  She ran into the magazine rack, and instead of leaving, re-aligned her 50-item cart into the lane.  

Why can't people follow the rules?  It's one thing to come through with a few more items than the sign limits, but seriously?  A full cart?  

Other rules Americans can't be bothered to follow

•   Traffic laws.  Sure, we all go above the speed limit once in a while, but I always seem to either get behind the person driving 30mph in a 55mph zone, or stuck in front of the person who wants to drive 80mph in a 30mph zone.  I can't be alone in my sick happiness when someone goes flying by you in the next lane going double the speed limit, only to catch up to him down the road, pulled over by a cop.  I am happy to say that this has happened to me about 5 times since I have been on the road.  And I can't mention idiot drivers without calling out the people who feel they deserve to get ahead in a traffic jam by driving on the side of the road past everyone else.  Clearly where you're going is much more important than where I'm going!
  
• Grammar.  I won't get into the whole "your" vs "you're" issue, or the fact that people have decided that every word should be abbreviated (or, worse, that evvverryy worddd shoulddd havvee exxtrraaa letterrrssss addedd onnn!), but I die a little inside when I see those people whole-heartedly screaming "You're in America, speak English!" while simultaneously demonstrating their complete inability to correctly use the English language. PS big guy, South America is "America," too. 
  
• Any sign posted anywhere in a store/doctor's office/amusement park, what have you.  No feeding the animals?  Here's some bread for ya, ducks!  I'm not supposed to use my cell phone while people are transferring confidential information in a bank or pharmacy?  How dare they cut my conversation about last night's episode of Grey's Anatomy short!  Why should I have to alert you prior to eating that I have an allergy when I can just get mad and sue you after I go into anaphylactic shock?  Gawd! 

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I'm off to my shindig, 5 items in hand.  

-R

Caution: I have an overdeveloped sense of entitlement

Tomorrow, I'm getting my wisdom teeth out.  As I am the type of person who A) likes to be prepared, and B) is always afraid the most routine, common things are going to kill me, I decided to run some last-minute errands/get my affairs in order in case, well, you know...


So I decided to go to the bank, to the grocery store, and to Taco Bell.  Where else would I go for my possible last lunch? 


Anyway, upon entering the bank's parking lot, I noticed a minivan with a particularly large sign on the back.  The sign read: "CAUTION  SHOW DOGS."  


I immediately became enraged for the following reasons: 

1. The fact that this person believes that his or her SHOW dog is more important than anyone else's regular dog.  Apparently you can drive like an idiot if a REGULAR dog is in the car, but if you so much as come within a mile of the owner's precious show dogs, then you have another thing coming! 
   
2. That the owner assumes I am driving like a maniac and that his/her sign will put me in check.  In general, I swerve all over the road, pass people on the right, slam into other drivers' back ends, and drive through red lights.  But if I see a "CAUTION SHOW DOGS" sign, I will definitely stop being a danger to myself and others behind the wheel. 
3.  That anyone would spend $16 on that stupid sign. Who seriously sits at their desk and says, "I need to order a sign to put on the car to protect my precious show dogs?"  Who takes out their credit card and punches in their card number, expiration date, and security code to pay sixteen dollars for a sign like that?  I really want to know who has that kind of time on their hands. 
4. It reminded me of the "Baby on Board" signs, which also piss me off.  I guess adults, teenagers, and non-show dogs don't matter.  Only babies and show dogs deserve a safe road to drive on.  

I walked into the bank, not sure what to expect.  There was one younger woman, and one older woman.  The younger woman left and got into a different vehicle, so it was the old lady with the curly white hair.  I wondered immediately if her show dogs were poodles, because of the old "people look like their dogs" thing.  She stood at the teller looking impatient, and I had to hold myself back from saying something sarcastic about how I hope people were careful on the road, because there were obviously show dogs in tow out in the parking lot.  

At least my chicken quesadilla and nachos and cheese were excellent. 


I'm off to make a "CAUTION, PEOPLE ON BOARD" sign.  Ciao! 


-R

Idiosyncrasies

I've always been one of those "weird" people, but I've tried my hardest to suppress it when I am dealing with the general population.  

One time, I was on an airplane and to pass the time, rather than being terrified, I decided to read a book by my favorite author, Gabriel Garcia Marquez.  I would put the right accents on there, but I honestly, after having this computer for over 2 years, do not know how to do that yet.  Anyway, this was his autobiography, Living to Tell the Tale, and while reading it, I realized I am not alone in that my crazy word associations are not as uncommon as I once believed.  The part that made me think this was his assertion that he could imagine what the word "trunk" (car trunk) tasted like.  Or smelled like.  Or something like that. 

I was pretty sure then that I needed to seek out "Gabo" and marry him.  Who cares if he's 83?  We could make it work because we are both freaking weirdos. 


7 Random Word Associations I Compulsively Make

1. Differentiate = French fries 
2. Elm (the tree, the street, doesn't matter) = Ham salad sandwich
3. Benefit = Root beer 
4. Niece = Rice Krispie treats 
5. Impulse = Veins 
6. Idiot = An ant's head 
7. Finances = Skittles

 I realized while writing this that a majority* of my associations have to do with food.  


I'm not sure if my fiance knows what he's getting himself into.  


-R 


*Majority = Kool-Aid; specifically, red Kool-Aid. 

Curse You, William Shatner

I often hear parents, and read Facebook status updates from parents, complaining about having to watch a show or movie that their child wants to watch.  

"I couldn't watch Lost last night because little Billy wouldn't stop watching Shrek the Third for the 700th time!" 

"Man, I totally have every Dora, The Explorer episode memorized because Jenny has watched it so much!" 

I am constantly in awe of this, because, well, my parents watched whatever they damn well wanted whether we liked it or not.  Don't get me wrong; they were usually busy, you know, taking care of us, so we got to watch Full House and Perfect Strangers most of the time.  But if they wanted to watch Rescue 911, we either watched it or went elsewhere to watch something else.  Usually, we ended up watching Rescue 911 with them. 

And that is why I have psychological problems.  

5 Reasons Rescue 911 Ruined My Childhood

• I thought I would die.  Every day.  I vividly remember my dad mixing Miracle Grow on the front porch to feed the flowers.  A minuscule speck of water from the jug of mixture splashed out and landed on my bottom lip, and I instinctively licked my lip.  I proceeded to ask my dad at least 20 times if that was enough poison to kill me.  I didn't believe him, so I drank as much water as I could for the rest of the day, hoping for the best, silently imagining what my funeral would be like.
  
  
• I spent time at sleepovers plotting escape routes instead of having fun.  Convinced my friend's house would catch fire in the night, I walked around each room of the house trying to figure out the best way out.  Surely my friends didn't watch Rescue 911 and couldn't see that their house was clearly a death trap and they really should get a better fire safety situation going there. 
  
  
•  I ruined everyone else's fun because the activities weren't safe.  I actually just exhibited this the other day upon hearing of a senior prank in recent years that involved throwing hundreds of bouncy balls from the second floor onto the passersby below.  But being the safety police when you're 10 isn't what gets you invited back to play kickball in the middle of the road.  Good; I didn't want to get hit by a car anyway!
  
  
• Sirens?  They MUST be going to my house!  Hearing sirens caused some major anxiety for me.  MY house was obviously the one on fire, and my whole family was obviously dead and I'd be an orphan forever.  This fear was a direct result of hearing those terrifying sirens on the Rescue 911 theme song.  One time I heard them while I was at my friend's house around the corner.  I followed them, and the fire truck stopped RIGHT in front of my house.  It turns out a building across the street went down in flames.  I definitely didn't leave home again for a while.  Which brings me to #5.
  
  
• Instead of playing "house," we played "severe storm preparation."  The combination of Rescue 911 and the 1991 Ice Storm led me to believe that our family just wasn't prepared enough for such events.  So I forced my sister into playing "hurricane" or other such awesome and enlightening games.  We would hoard away fake food, light pretend flashlights, and hide under tables.  Yeah!